


To Burn Before the Sun

by Wanderbird



Series: The Music Pooled Beneath Them [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, Gore, Interrogation, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Strexcorp is Evil, like seriously, so take care of yourself, this is darker and gorier than the rest of the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-20 16:18:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16559042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderbird/pseuds/Wanderbird
Summary: I already mentioned that Tamika was held captive by Strex.This is how she escaped.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... I had just finished posting part 1 of the main thing. I thought I was kinda done with this au for a while, I was tired, etc. And then I woke up-- and absolutely *had* to write this thing, and it was fun and energetic and I'm actually pretty happy with it! So, uh. So much for taking a break.
> 
> This takes place in parallel to With Drops of Singing Static, while Tamika is still in Strexcorp's loving custody before she shows up in Chapter 12. Warning: It's significantly gorier than the rest of the series. Take care of yourself, and don't read if you aren't okay with that. It isn't necessary for enjoying the rest of the series, either way.
> 
> Specific CWs at the bottom of each chapter, and part 2 will be up in a couple weeks!

She really couldn't say where she was anymore. Floating through existence, ballooned up by this seemingly infinite wave of contentment. Wave? Water. No, her brow furrowed ever-so-slightly, not water. Sand! Everything was sand. Sand, and sun, and sun, and sun— yes. She couldn't help but smile, there was so much sun, it made all the skin on the front of her body feel funny! Heheh. She wasn't sure what she felt on her back, just lightness and the ever-present light! Like a feather. A feather in the sun, splayed out on the desert sand, the desert bluffs before the light. Wasn't it a beautiful image? It really was. She had to admit, it really was a _miraculously_ beautiful image. After all, if she didn't admit to something she felt, her tongue would have to fall out of her mouth and run away! And that would be…

Sad.

What was… sad? She couldn't quite seem to remember. Was it… Was it that terrible feeling she felt when her work performance was suboptimal? Yes, that… that made the sandy clouds, the clammy sounds drop away a little. That _must_ be sad. Her beautiful sandy clouds, under the blazing sun, lost forever by the tragedy of her own thoughts. But then, maybe that was okay? It got her a little farther from the sun. The sun was beautiful, and she loved it, but it… hurt? Huh. That sounded wrong to say. To think. She frowned. _To rise from its own ashes, a phoenix first must burn_ , came the echo _. Octavia E. Butler, the Parable of Talents_. Ah yes, maybe that was it. If she was to dedicate herself to the Smiling God, the Sun that seared the flesh from her bones, she would have to burn herself first. She would have to feel it. That was, after all, what dedication meant _._ Right? _Right. Just don’t tell anyone. It’s supposed to be a surprise._

 

The little girl shackled to the bed didn't seem to notice when the door opened, letting through a grinning woman in a lab coat marked with a yellow triangle. She didn't seem to notice when the woman approached, laying her clipboard on the girl's stomach for a moment while she took out a stethoscope and check for a pulse. The little girl didn't even seem to notice when the scientist's fingers brushed against her throat, and her own limbs shot up to struggle against their chains. A dreamy grin--  
"Alright Miss Flynn," the woman smiled, resting her weight on the side of the bed. "You must be excited! The higher-ups say it's time to start taking your dosage down, so you can join the rest of our productive society, or at least be a little more coherent. They say they'll give you a chance to be good, even, and tell us what you know. Isn't that wonderful news?"  
 The scientist seemed unfazed by the child's lack of response.  
"Well, _I_ think it's wonderful news," she continued after a beat, ticking off another item from her clipboard. "You wouldn't want to disappoint anyone, would you?" After a few seconds, those perfectly-manicured hands slipped into the lab coat, pulling out a bottle of pale yellow liquid and a clean syringe. "Hold still, now. You wouldn't want me to stab this _too_ deeply! It should neutralize the effects of some of what's already in your system, so that the higher-ups can talk to you immediately! And then I can adjust your IV, and if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll even be able to leave soon!" The needle was bared. The woman leaned over the frail body beneath her, holding the lazily lolling head to one side. She readied herself--  
"All done!" The scientist stood, giving the child one last pat on the shoulder before she turned to attend to the IV drip hanging from one corner of the room. Her arms didn't so much as twitch when it started.

The little girl jerked. Her mouth opened, gaping, gasping-- and the scientist kept to her work, a thread of off-key melody winding its way through the air. A hoarse gurgle sounded as the girl relaxed again, but it was only a short respite as a few seconds later, the panting gave way to a high-pitched sort of groaning noise, blood trickling unnoticed from crescent-shaped imprints in her palm.

 

What was happening? She-- no. She had a name, didn’t she? Ta… Tamora? Tabitha? _Tamika?_ Yes. That was it. _Tamika_ , said a thought that sounded smug as a cat with a bowl full of fresh lizard blood. Wasn't it strange, how the calmest bits of consciousness were always loudest when the rest of her was incoherent with pain? Well. Not really pain, or at least not solely pain, there was that bubbling sensation running from where the needle had been and down her shoulders, up into her brain to leave trails of fire in its wake. But at the same time, she was cold, and hot, and she couldn't stop _shivering._ Her heart hammered somewhere far away, blood rushing deafening into her ears so fast, so _fast,_ it was all she could hear; and there was something wet on her face, was it tears? _She shouldn't cry._ Where did that come from? And her stomach, her stomach, it felt full of stones, but she hadn't eaten. Had she? No, no, not in… however long she'd been here. How long _had_ she been here? Tamika paused in her internal monologue long enough to snatch a breath into her lungs, and _oh_ the familiar tingle of radon dust felt so _good_ in her throat. How long? She tried to focus back on the question, but the words felt so fuzzy, like there was an enormous cotton ball lodged in her brain. It had already been, what, six hours when they tracked her down in that supply closet, trying to bind that shattered hip bone into place enough that she could walk? And then… There was a fight, she recalled, and after that… Wait.  
Tamika blinked the tears from her eyes to glare up at the white lights of the world.  
As she thought. She was being watched.

An asymmetrical smile graced the lips of the figure leaning in the doorway. "Please," the figure's dusky voice urged, "don't stop on my account."  
The woman in the lab coat turned brightly to the other figure. "Oh, good! You're here. Just in time!" Was it just Tamika's imagination, or were those perfectly-ivory-white teeth pointed? _There's no such thing as 'just' imagination._ "I'll be on my way then, and leave this sweet little thing to you."  
Why did those words grate so much? She frowned. 'Sweet little thing' was good, wasn't it? She was liked! That was truly fulfilment, was it not?  
The scientist ducked out of the room, and the figure paced slowly in to set themselves down on her bed, close enough to that broken hip that Tamika couldn't help the twinge of discomfort which slipped through her in that moment. "Now," murmured the figure, "We just have a few questions for you before sending you off." Those eyes crinkled slightly as they looked down on her. "Don't be scared, Miss Flynn, you will be fulfilled. We have a lovely boarding school for teenage delinquents such as yourself built especially for you poor children rescued from Night Vale! You'll be joining with _very_ special status just as soon as we're done here, and you'll be joining productive society in no time!"  
See? She whispered to the other self which had remembered the name. It'll be okay. They said not to be scared! _We aren't scared._ It's true, Tamika's brow furrowed for a moment. She wasn't scared. Why would she be scared? School was a good thing, and she would get to become better, and there were other people to rescue! No. Other people that had been rescued. _That she could rescue._ But why would they need rescuing? They were all in the care of Strex now, and Strex would take care of them.  
"That's the spirit!" Fingertips wandered up the sheets to massage Tamika's shoulder gently, heedless of the bruises beneath. "You're saved now, too. Well-- not _quite_ yet. That's the thing," the friendly Strex employee continued. "There's some things we have to know before we can help you. First," those fingers flattened out to glide along Tamika's collarbone, "Real quick, was there anyone else with you that got left behind? We want to make sure we've saved _everybody_ we can."  
_Don't answer_. "N-no." The shortness of breath had mostly left, even if Tamika was still far from comfortable. "I don't think there was."  
"You don't _think_ there was?" Soft, that voice spoke. Unimposing. An absent thought wondered why the other scientist had seemed so afraid of them.  
"I don't really remember." The words poured from Tamika's mouth practically without conscious interference. "I got split off from the rest of my strike team almost as soon as we got to Carlos."  
"And taking Mr. Carlos back had been your primary objective?"  
_Don't answer!_ "Yes."  
The half-heard hum which issued from the figure in response felt… good. But this cloudiness, something was, something wasn't quite right. Quite complete. "Where are you based?"  
_I swear on the graves of all three of our siblings,_ that irate little voice growled, _if you just TELL THEM where the Book Club is based, I will do everything I can to end our miserable life and put our corpse **right** next to theirs before you spout another word_. "In--" A pause. "Our life isn't miserable. We're happy. Aren't we? This is what happiness feels like."  
The fingers stopped their meditative circles, poised at the base of Tamika's neck. "Of course you're happy now. Thanks to Strex. All of this is thanks to Strex. Where are you based?"  
"Thirty-three-point--" _FUCK._ "But they're trying to help!" _No, they're not._ Why not? How did she know? Strex was _meant_ to help people, this Tamika knew to the bottom of… well, at least the bottom of the clouds. She couldn't feel much else. __  
"That's as may be," The Strex employee soothed. "But they aren't actually being very helpful, are they?"  
Did they think she was talking about the Book Club? _Sure,_ came the words. _If it helps._ The clouds were nice, yes. And so happy! They were so happy, and they made her feel so much more fulfilled, but-- it's true. They weren't very helpful. She could hardly answer the questions, after all, if she couldn't remember the answers. And the clouds were because of Strex.

  
Uh-oh.  
The nice Strex employee didn't feel quite so helpful anymore. This was probably because of the fingers squeezing the sides of her neck, nails digging freezing into dark brown skin. _We can't breathe._ That was it, wasn't it. That must be why her hands scrabbled at the handcuffs holding them to the bed, back bucking beneath her in a vain attempt at sucking in precious air, air, AIR-- the hand released. Over Tamika's gasps, the figure spoke again, as unhurried as ever. "Where are you based?"

"I… don't know?" _Beams damn it all, that was weak,_ the voice grouched. _I suppose it's something, at least._  
"That is a lie." The hand clenched again, and this time it held for so long Tamika's vision filled with blotches of color, like the endless void but so bright she could hardly stand to look. "Why are you lying to me, Miss Flynn?" They sounded genuinely hurt. As Tamika panted to recover, the question was repeated. Icy fingers trailed down from her neck and under her yellow scrubs while they waited, rubbing absently against her stomach now as if to remind her of her helplessness. "Where are you based? Don't you want redemption?"  
She.…yes. Tamika blinked water from her eyes, of course she wanted redemption! But that wouldn't work if she was dead, and wouldn't be worth it if she took that gift immediately, greedily and without meaning it, the phoenix first must burn. Wasn't that what she thought earlier? _Yes._ Must burn. _Burn._  
"Burn?" The figure hummed again, hand shifting up and down over the scars on Tamika's stomach. "Did Dr. Jesso give you too much medication again?" A smile. "That's alright. I promise, just tell me what we need to know, and you can meet the Smiling God in person." Fingernails dug beneath a bandage and into one of the gashes just to the left of her liver.  
The pain only barely permeated the haze in her head. But it did help. Maybe _… Maybe this could work_. Work _? If they hurt us enough, but not too severely, we'll be able to think again. Clearly_. Why did that matter, when clouds were so much more pleasant? _Because. If we can think, maybe we can get out. Or, you know_. Prostrate ourselves before a Smiling God _? Yeah_. The voice hesitated _. Close enough_. But they said that we could meet the Smiling God, if we cooperated— _They’re lying._ Why would they be lying? That—that was heresy, pure and simple! Thinking a Strex employee was _lying,_ how absurd was tha—OH FUCKING OWww ow ow…

 

The figure’s words were mild when Tamika returned, gasping back to reality. She trembled, vibrating like the string of a violin at the _hand_ shoved between the remnants of her broken hip bone, desperately straining not to jostle it. Damn that thing. Damn the explosion that sent her hurtling against the wall to break it earlier, and damn whoever set the bomb. “Miss Flynn. Something tells me you don’t really want to help us.” Tamika slammed her teeth shut on her lower lip when that bloody hand began to close into a fist, leaving Tamika to try and fail to muffle the groan tearing its way from her throat.  
The motion stopped.  
“That’s very sad. You see, I could call Dr. Jesso back in to make you more compliant again, but that would mean interrupting her work.” A pitying look. “I’d hate to impact her productivity as badly as you seem to be impacting mine. But,” their fingers wrapped around something small and solid, beginning to withdraw from the wound with an abominable sucking sound. “I still think you can be amenable.” Oh beams. The fist, with whatever it was holding, had to be larger than the split in the skin it had entered from, there was no way it could--  
…  
The Strex employee stared at the blood-coated piece of bone in their hand with a sort of gentle curiosity. “Always so fascinating,” they said, as if they hadn’t just dragged it from the inner reaches of a living body. “The way bone breaks. Aren’t I lucky your earlier invasion resulted in such beautiful damages?” A chuckle. “Apologies, I know that’s not what you’re here for.” They glanced back at where Tamika panted in ragged breaths, her hands clenched white-knuckled on the bed frame beneath her, her pillowcase visibly wet with tears and sweat. “I think I’ll take it with me anyway, as a little bit of decoration for my office. _I_ think it’ll look lovely next to the required framed photos of human teeth! I suppose it’s acceptable if you disagree.” Their hand went back to its delicate strokes along the prisoner’s stomach, its path eased by the slick of blood. “Well?” they prompted. “Where are you based? I’m curious.”  
Fuck. She hadn’t thought of it before, but Strex really had not particular reason to keep her alive, did they? She was the leader of the rebellion, after all. Without her, Strex had no reason to think it would last. And honestly? Tamika laughed a purely mental chuckle, bitter like the coffee of home. In all honesty, if it weren’t for Janice, it probably wouldn’t last. But Janice knew her tactics, knew her strategy, had learned from Tamika how and why to bother uniting all the Boy- and Girl scouts of Night Vale with everyone else wanting to resist, knew how to liase with the Secret Police and the PTA—Janice could keep the rebellion afloat for at least a few months, barring exceptional circumstances. All Tamika had to worry about was herself, and keeping the secrets of the Book Club.  
Which would be much easier now, because judging by the unity of her train of thought, she finally had her own mind back.  
“I—”  
“Another lie.” Fingers jabbed back into the flesh of her hip, and this time Tamika let the screech rend itself from her lips. Better to feign weakness (even if it wasn’t entirely feigned). “I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time for this today, Miss Flynn.” The figure grabbed another chunk of bone, and stood, ripping it from its cradle of muscle and cartilage and out the now much wider entry wound. A casual toss, up and down to catch the chunk easily in a bloodstained hand. They pressed a button on what appeared to be an intercom built into the wall. “Doctor? Put her back out, and add a little of serum 3A while you’re at it. Not that the heretic deserves either of them.”

 

She didn’t have long, in that case.  
Doctor Jesso showed back up in seconds, rummaging in the counter beside her as the interrogator left until she came up with a fresh syringe. “Don’t worry, Miss Flynn,” she said brightly while a pair of bottles were chosen from the cabinet above. “You’ll get that redemption yet, just you wait.” A fresh IV bag, soon filled with what was presumably a cocktail of liquid nutrients and whatever the two (or more?) drugs were, was slotted in to the holder. A moment later, the doctor sat back on the bed where the interrogator had left, syringe in hand. “I don’t have time to fix up your injuries again _quite_ yet, but I’ll get to it, never fear. You aren’t bleeding _too_ badly.” A hand patted Tamika’s dreadlocks, and the jab of a needle pricked her neck.  
The doctor left.  
Okay.  
She could work with this.

 

Tamika took a few precious seconds, first, to enumerate her tasks:

  1. Deal with the handcuffs. Not too hard, mostly because for all that Janice learned a lot from her, she had already been a girl scout in her own right, and Carlsberg was hardly a pushover either. And one of the many things Janice got from her father, besides the penchant for reading and rebellion? Self-sufficiency. No self-respecting father who knew his child would spend her life getting in harm’s way would ever let her go without certain basic skills—and Janice had Cecil as an uncle, to boot. She’d taught Tamika this.



Tamika closed her eyes, and time slowed to a crawl. She whispered a few words, calling to the horrorterrors of Night Vale even if they no longer ran the radio station. She was dear to Janice, and Janice was dear to Cecil, and _they would help her_ if they ever wanted Cecil back again. She opened her mouth:

 

_:De'al te'rade̿ͧ̓ͫ͞'̂̆̎̈̕͝a̿̅ͤ̒l̛̎ͦ́ͬ̚̚ ̈ͭ̊͒͋̊ͭ̚͘r̈́̏͊͛͊́͌̕h̒̿̆ͪ͗ͬ̃͏̷̨t͐͘͢͢aͭḡ̡̓ͩ̾̐̇̒̄ņ̀̒̉ͮͮͨ͐ͬ͟,̡͊ͮ͒̒ͬ͞ ̴͊͛̍̓ͬͧ̉r̵͑͗ͩ̄ͩ͊h̏ͮ̏͟t̍ͥ̽ͩ̄͠a̎̀ͪ̈́ͬ̐͠g͐ͭ͟n̑̒̈́ ͭ͋̉̍͆ͣ̽͑͘mͩ̏̊͛͝ē̴̵͌n͒͛ͥ͊̂͢e̷ͤͯ̏́͗̆̒̔͡,̧̔ͥ̋̉̓̓͞ ̢ͥ͂̊̋͐̍͏l̢ͯͧͬķ̨̧ͪ̄̏ͯͬͧe̊̋ͮ̊̇̅͟l͑ ̶̢ͪ̇͑̉͘m̷͒̇̋̚͘e͊̀̅͂̆̄̈̔͝n̴̵ͦͣ̑̍̆ͨ͊e͛ͩͪ̀ ̨͑̈́̀m̸̡̡̨̛̼͈͍̰̙̙̫̝̭̯̩͉͖͔̬̗̺̖̈͋͆͌̓̃͛͆̏͘͜͝͠ẽ̵̢̢̢̨̛͇͚̟̟͌̓̿̆͊̍̋̀̓̚͘̚ͅn̴̢̧̨͉͈̬̘͎͖͇̻̤̜̦̥̹͖̦̜̥̚͜e̷̛̯̤̭̊̅̅̄͋̀̏̑͒͑i̴̧̛̛̮͕̹̣̫͒̿͂͊̀̑͌̅̐̒̓͗̒͜r̶̡̭̻̘̰̟̪̞͔̙̣̬͔̔͌̐̃͌͐̇̆̔̓̒̎̍̿̕͝͠͠à̴͙̬͚̗̍̅͆̐͒̂̾̀̇͛̇̕n̸̡̼͚͍̞̘̗͓͓͚̦̘͎̞̣̫͙̝̹̊͆̈́̎̒̈̋̌̾̆̊͆̃̐̊̑̍͘͝,̶̛̛̘̦̩̪͍͕̦͚͙̰̳͇͎͈͔͕̟̔̎̈́͂̔̃̃̚ ̴̨̦̱̗̤̤͎̩̣̮̞̖͍̘̰̻̘̱̈́̔̓̈̍̆͌̐͌̋̑̊̇̑̔͝n̷̢̻͈̳̱̓͛,̶͈̘̝̬͇̺̹͇̺̯̹̯̘͚̻̬͎̤͕̟̇̎͗̐̑̍ ̴̨̛̩̜̬̖̝͎̗̣̣̦͖͔̣̦͉́̅̐̅̋͊͑̋̌͑̑̾̓͑̈́̕͜͝ḩ͉̺͚͇̩͈͓͍ͮ͑̅̔͛̃͌͘͘e̷͆̉͌̽ͥ̔̿͐͊ͧͯ̏̊͏̣̣̟̙͙̼̝͖̩̣͖͎͔ļ͕̞͎̻̻̟̫̗̘̠͍̳̯̱̠̯͒͑ͬ͑̌̽͡p̷̵̧͉͚͔̞͓̭̲͔̪̘͔̺̻̳̋͒̈́͊͘ͅͅ ̸̷̷̝̖͕͚̬̻̹͕͚̳̪͕̳̼͖͚̈́̍ͨ̒̍͐ͬͤ̎̈̊̐͌͌̏ͦ̾̚̕m̨̾͛͌ͧͯͯ͆̀ͪ̋ͯ̏ͩ̋̚҉̷̣͉̝̙̘̲̺͚̫̮̼͘͟e̷͍͖͈͙̹̬̠̠͇̺̭̮̥͓̦̔͆͗̋ͯ̐͛ͣ͒ͨ͌͜ ̨̺̼̞̬͙̠͉͎̫̩̖ͩͧ̈͑̇ͣ͝h̴̴̨͓͉̠̝͍̝̜̹̑̂ͯ̔ͭ̒̆ͥ̓̂ͤ͋ͨ̌͛̒̍ͩe̸̟̩̩̱̞̬̫͕̥̫̟̍ͭ̐ͦ̅ͨͭ̌͜͠ͅl̷̴̮̦̦̖͓̀̎̿ͣ͆̈̆̕͢͞p̡͔̬͉̙͖̪͒̆̄ͭ͒ͦ̿͆̓ͯ̃͟͡ ͛ͫͪ̔̏͆̇̑̅ͫ͛̒̄͝҉͉̣̝̺̩̻m̵̷̗͍̭̟̞̱͍̤͙͓͈̜ͬͥͭ̿ͨ̿̍̒̔͋͛̔̀ẻ̍ͯͯͬ͛͐͝͡҉̹͍̘̺͈̞̤̳̘̮̻̺̗͙ͅ ̷̳̝̞͎͍̉̉̉͗̈́ͣ͡h̷̔̽̒̍ͪ͒͏̹̠̣͠e̴̤͖͚̞ͩ̎̒̉̋ͥ̀̍̂̓̉̕͜l̵͓͓̭̝̬̮̮͈͔̯̪̯̽́͐̐̍ͫ͌ͦ̕p̶̡̧̄̄̇ͪͧͫͨ͊̒͏̨͉̥̙͚͖̞̠͍ ̡̋ͭͣ̚͢͏̧̺̼͙̬̣͖̬̞m̶̬͔͇̪͌ͮͧ̍ͬͥ͐ͮ̆͌́ͮͭ̅̐͌͟ͅe̱̰̰͍͖͈͔̝̩͖͎͋̈́ͭ͑̊͆ͩ̅͜͜͢͞ ̨̪͚͉̜̥̟͚̤̹̗̥͉̱̼̜̗͑͊̉̾̔ͪ͂͋̅̆͋̽̓̉̚̚͝h̵̸̰̼̰͊͊́̓͌̋̇͟͠ͅȩ̰͚̠̜͍͎̩̠̟̩͎̤̠ͮ̇̀͊ͧͨ́͆̈́̊ͮͣ̓͆̋̊ͧͬ̏͘l͔̰̥̺̜̲ͨ͂̓̓̈͊͗ͬ̈̍̉͆̍̇͒̊ͩ̕͟͢p͙̥̘̬̯̝͉̬͙̝͎͉̗͂ͮ͌͒ͤ̾̅͞͞͝ ͈̪̝̪͕͈̺͍̖̮̥̲̞͔̱̩͖͍͈͒ͧ̋̕͜m̶̵̢̨͈̜̣̲̰̩̱̭̻̤̺̦̦ͧͣͧ̀̇̓̚ͅe̷̷̵̵̸̻̺̹̩̩͔̥̤̥̥̜̜̫̰̪̩̰̍͆͊̉̄́̍́ ̴̮̹̐͋̑̚ ̶̧̢̢̛̛͖̭̩̠̠͉̜̙̼̖̜̗̲̳̠̰͚̐̓̄͒̍̈͐̈̓͆̊͐͛̎͐͋̒̑̎̒̇̿͊̉̔̒͐͘̚̚̕ ̴̜̬̜̠̖̜̞͎͓̭̗̈̔̑͂͘ͅ ̴̢̨̧̡̛̼̝̬̤̼̙̠̹̠̠͉̼̹̩͖̫̟̤̻̺͇͉͐̏̓̉̐̓̽̈̎̑̄̋̋́̋̽̋̌̈́͜͜͝͝͝ͅ ̴̨̧͇̭̤͖̲̗͓̪̝͉̜̪͈̳̰̻͓̼̮̜̜̪̺͉͌̈́̓̉̂̏̀̔̕̕͝͝͠ ̶̢̡͔̤͕͔͖̜̬̗̹̳̥̩͙̦̹̬͖͎̲̙̊͆̑̍ͅͅ ̸̢̨̢̟͖̟͎̪͕̩̬͉͈͇̞͍̭̞͔̪̟̫̙͋ ̶̢̢̝̪̞͚͚͉͙͎̬̗̪̩̻̲̤͔̹͔͇̠̱̘͔͚̞̘͙̂̆͒̓̈́͐̾͜ͅͅ ̷̨̡̡̛͎͕͉͉̣̮̞̹̲̰̦̠͔͎͇̲̗͈̤̦̙̥̣̜͈̜͓̬̗̽̒͐͋̓͠͝͝͝ͅ ̶̨̧̢̢̢̛̭͉̱̬̥͈͙̩͔͍̥̗̖͍͚̯̭̋̍̋̾̈̉̽͑̿̾̑͐̏̓̑̑̏̈́̽̐̄͑̒̿͆̈̕̚͜ͅ ̸̡̡͙͎͍̺͇̹̟̆̌̊͛ ̷̱͎̘̏̉͂̓̋̓̈̀̇̀̐͑̋̇͐̅͒̓͗͊̊̾̈́͘͝ ̷̧̨͎͕̰̼̜̦͇̲̰͇͓͚̳̻̋̃̊͊̿̈̌͋̄̈́̔͆̊̓̅̃͘͘͝ͅ ̴̧̡̛͙͇̳͔͎̪̫͕̠̰͓̩͎̱̻͇̫̤̺̾͌̓̾̅̓͐͗̀͗͗̿̑̄͌̉̾̂͘̚̕̚͜͝͝͝ ̷̢͙͖̜̫̖̤̦͓͉̠̫̥͍̲͉̳̝̻̝̱͎͓̠̪͓̦̟̓ ̴̡̤̗͍̫̙͎̼̥̠̪͒͑̈́ͅ ̵̡̨̧̗͍̖͈͈̖͉̮̺͎̝̺̝̖͇̙͙̰̩̯̰̰͎͍͕̠̎̓̉̈́̊͑̈̏̔̿͒͊̉̈́͑̈́́̄̆͑̊̉̚̕͜͝͠͠͝͝ ̸̳̤̗̦͚̗̘̲̟͍̟̝̭͎̆̆͛̍͆͒̿̂̃͆̑̂͑̇̈́̈́̃͂͗͆͝ ̴͓̱̮̭̤̗̃̓̄͊̆͂͒͗̎̆̋͒̈̽͋́̇͋͊͌͋̈́̕͜͝ ̷̨̨̙̳̘͈̬̬̲̬̬̬̞̯̰̪̲̙͚̦͔̹̱͇̄͂̈́͂̎̍̌̆̏͗́͋͗͜͠͝͝ ̷̛̝̩̃́̌̒̓̽̽̔̾̐̊̈͊̾̚͘̕͝ ̷̢̛̛̞͓̯̻͖͖̦̉͑͊̆͆̏͒̆͑̎̈́̔͐͑͒̌̈̈́͋̂̑̒́̊͛͆̚͝͝͝͝ ̵̡̡̡̳̝̼͚̩͔͉͎̪̰̳̩̤̰̼̲̙͖̘̩͛̌̈́̿́͘͠͝ ̴̨̠̝̗̳̙̭̠͇̠͙̗̤͚̥͂̊̃̑̓́͝ ̸̨̛̖̦̠̥̣͇͚͕̻̫̪̮̞͖͉̼̟͍͔̬̖͔͉̯͋̅̆̇̓̑́͘̚͜ ̴̛̛̘͌͊͒͋̃̒̚͝ ̷̧̛̖̞͎͚̞͚͇͖̳̤͙̼̤̻͓͇͓̟͊̽̓̈́̑͗̓̿̓̀̈͊̌͛̏͠͝ ̶̡̛̛̲̬̘̦̹̩̩̤͇̹̘̣̻̦̦̓̓̎͛̏̆͂͌͑̄͐̊̔̄͌̆̐̽̇̏͗̌̃͗̎͑̚̚͜͝ ̸̧͉̘̭͇͉̖͇̖̗͎̞̰͇̳̪͕̟̲̔̊̓̀͆̐̓̈̄̂̾̀̈̈́͋̽̕͝͝ͅ ̶̢̨̛͚̯͉͈̦͕̫͈̀͗͐̽̈́̌̑͘͘ ̸̨̪̝̖̙̻̙̲̹͉͉̯̖̪̤̭̫̔̽̓̇̓̓̿̉͛̚͝ ̷̢̡̢̛͎̱̻̻̰͇͓͕̭̦̻͉̖̱͓̺̥̝͔͖̻̼͔͕̥̤̥̠̤̈͂̃͋͂͛̄̔͗͊̋̊͊͗̈̀͊̿͋͊͛͘̚͘͜͝ ̴̨̢̨̧̧̠̗̫͕̭̰͙͍̺͇̭̲̮̲̲̺̙̙̗͎̞̦̈́̈́̉̕ͅ ̸̨̧̧̨̢͙̖͍͙̙̟̜̣̤͇̼̥͎̰̦̳̠͇̜̪̥̠̝̦̣̘̪̐̈́͐̈͂̀͊͒̐͊̔̋͜͜ ̴̡̢̛̣̭̠̻͓̥̝̖̤̱̩̮̮͕͉̮͍̽̈̀̔͌͛̿͌͛̃̎̽̆̆͋̇̈̃̉̃͜͠͝͝ͅ ̸̡̛̪̯͎͚̮̰̮̠͈̤͍̆̒̂̈́̀̓̿̒̈́̎͌̽̓̌͋̉̕̕͜͜͝ ̷̧̧̪̙̻̠̬͈̘͉͓͈̤̯̱̬͖̘̦̒͋͝͝ͅ ̵̛̛͓̞̠͚͈̖̭͙̫̀͂̿͆͌̽̒̆̒̋̈́̅̆̎̑̒̔̓͋̑̂͗͘͘͝ ̷̛̲̎̄ ̸͔̤̉̐̎̿̈́̀͘͝͠ ̶̧̢̡̡̛̺̭̺̝̩̟͚͔̹͖͍̙͓̤͕̣͉͙̋̔̑̈́̇̄́̿̾͛͊͘͘ ̷͓̪̮̭̃̓̂̐̀̀͂ ̵̡̡̧͕̙̥̣̪̇͠ ̵̨̡̧̠̗̬͍̩̪̜̙̖̠̲̼̠̞̥̫̼̺͍̙̜̩̤̌̏̈́̄̌̊̂̔͐ ̵̨̛̙̥̘̰̦̲͖͉̞̣̬̥̦͎̮̲͖͂̈͆͛͘ͅ ̴̛͍̹̺͓̯̬̓̄̆̀̀͒͛̓̌̔̀̈̚̚ͅ ̸̡̢̯͈̮̱̮̬̱̰̺͍̠̪͖̖̞̪̱̣͖̞̱̦̯̩̰̙̌͐͆͛̀͆͛͑̇̏̑̓̒̓͌̚͜͝ ̷̡̡̢̨̛̥̝̤̟̼̹̞̝͈̠̘̲̻̮̰͎͚̤̬̬̣͍̺̹̼̤̓͑͆̂̈́̐̒͌̓̿̄̀̃͒͋̓̈͝͠͠͝ ̸̡̨̧̧̙̺̠̱͚̬͍͎̦̼̙̬͈̮͍͖̝̣͈͎̝̫̯͔̙̓͊̎̊̏̋̓̓̍͆͂͒̅́̌̒̈́̉̂͛̒̊͆̾̔͐̌͘͜͝ ̵̨̛̛͖͉̙͇͔̦̥̰͉̰͇͖̰̹͒̂̇̃͆̄̋͌̽̈́̎͐̀̆͂͌͛̕̕̚͘͜͜ ̶̧͉̜̲̱̪͔͇̼̱͕͕̹̒̍̋̑̆̽ ̶͍͙̻̯̙̮̮̪̰͉̱̘͓̂͒̅͒̋͑̀͋̔͂̈́̓̚͝͝ ̷̼͔̰̤̲͖͇͗̏́̄̈́̈́̾͌̆̈́̐͌̕͠͠͠ ̵̞̄͐͊̌̈́͒̕͠ ̶̳͙̠͈̞̙̬͔̼͎̙̥̙͍̫̬̹̫͎̫̻̲̗͛̋̆͊͂̈̐͊̽͒͑͂͛̐̌̚͝ ̷̧̧͕̱̤̦̝̬̺͕͈̗̜̘̱̗̜͍̪̺͉͔̤̱̟̄̊̉̋͋̉̐͌̅̏̊̋̓͌͂̈̎̐̔͘  ̷̡̧̛̛̳͔͉͇̙̩̳̼͎̺̫̠͖̪̰̆̉̄͒͆̑̽̍̾͗͗̐́̈͗̈́̒̐̂̉͠ ̸̧̙̞̗̺͍̲̪̙͕̯̭̮̘̥͈̹͚̫͚̜̌̈́ ̶̰̜̩͘͝ ̵̻̳̜̤͖̯̣̺̳̬̟̯̩̮̭͖̮̼̻̿͋̃̾̽͗͊͐̍̈́̍̔̇̿̌͊̓́͠͠ͅ ̶̧̨̛̭̳͔̖̮̖̠̹͖̤͇̭̪̟̣͔̜̓̒̐̊̄̎̐̓̾͐͂̐̋̓̇̈̏̀̍̍͛̏͋̕͜͠͝͠ ̶͉̰̳̫͇̭̦͇̺͚̲̬͙͚̣̆̈͆̇͑́͆̃̓̈́̀̑̆̒͗̈̓͐͂̃̎̚͜͠͝͝ͅ ̸̡̨̡̹͍͇̜̤̩̜̦͚̱͇̥͕͇̖̞͈̬̘̗̾̉͋̔̽̽͆͆̚̕̕͠ͅ  
_

  
  
  
A clatter broke the wall of static surrounding her, and Tamika jerked back to herself with a gasp. Shaking, she finally drew her hands from the bed, wiping the blood on her palms off on the hideous sheets. Where did the handcuffs even go? Tamika sat up, and—oh. There they were, twisted and blackened and sprawled on the floor. One hand rose to her mouth to smother the sound, but Tamika couldn’t help the giggle that left her throat—and besides, it would probably be interpreted by anyone outside as the drugs taking effect in any case. She straightened up, and--  
FUCKIng hell that hurt.  
Right.

  1. Figure out how to work around the broken hip. This would be trickier. Judging by what she remembered from that book of Emily Dickinson poetry, she probably wouldn’t be able to just walk around on it. But there wasn’t time for any kind of surgery to fix the problem, even if there was somebody around who could help with it to make the operation go faster. The drugs were already in her system. Tamika growled, frustration radiating from her very skin. If it weren’t for that—she couldn’t even splint the thing, because she had to be able to move under her own power. How else would she get from presumably-Desert-Bluffs all the way back to Night Vale without being caught? Hell, how would she even leave the building? Unless….



That was it. She didn’t _have_ to move under her own power, or at least not walk, not for long. All she had to do was get to the helicopter pad on the roof. If she could find someplace to hide, someplace where she would be placed on the helicopter itself without interference, she could wait until it was out over the desert and—yes. That could work. Limp to something that needed transport _by helicopter,_ or even anything that would get her out of the building before the search started and where she could wait out the worst of the high and she could get most of the way home that way! That would give her time, both to clear her head and to work on the hip, and—okay.

  1. Get to something resembling safety before the drugs took effect.



Well that wouldn’t happen unless she got off her ass and escaped. First things first, she had to get that IV out. Not too hard, she thought as she peeled off the dressing on the inside of her elbow. A gulp of air, and she drew the tubing out of her arm, slow and steady, plugging the end with her thumb as it left. Tamika took in a breath, pushing it out in a quiet hiss. The tubing was tossed in the sink first, where it could drip unheeded, and so she could collect herself. This would hurt, but she had to be quiet. She had to keep going. She wasn’t scared. She had to be strong. Teeth clenched so hard she feared they might crack, Tamika sat the rest of the way up again, and—breathed out. Breathe in.  
And  
Stand  
Tamika lurched forward, half-leaning, half-falling against the counter. This could work. This had to work. At least the pain should help stave off the advance of those fucking Strex drugs, she thought with a grimace. Speaking of which, maybe there were painkillers in here. Somewhere. Tamika kept as quiet as she could as she rummaged, despite the jerkiness of her movements. It obviously wasn’t wise to willingly take _more_ drugs on top of her current cocktail, much less drugs from a Strex facility, but—she had to do something. Trying to limp around as she was, she’d be bound to give up her position by means of hard breathing alone! Let’s see, Tamika squinted at labels, was there anything she recognized? No, no, no, no—wait. Was that… morphine? Basically? That’s what it looked like, in a bottle of little white tablets. Not that that would help her keep her head on straight, but… It was probably worth the risk at this point. Elbow resting most of her weight on the counter, Tamika shook out a handful of pills, dropping them back in the bottle as she realized she had no pockets in these scrubs. She popped the first pill in her mouth, instead, and gripped the bottle in her fist. She opened another cabinet, another—there! Spare lab coats. Tamika slipped one on, putting the bottle of pills in one pocket. She carefully closed that last cabinet, after arranging everything as she left it—no use informing whoever found the room first exactly what her disguise was, for whatever that was worth. What next? There was no sink in this ward, for some reason. Probably the same reason there were framed hopefully-pictures of human viscera on the walls: because this was Desert Bluffs. Oh, well. Tamika did the best she could to make herself presentable by wiping her face off on the pillowcase on the bed, and snatched up somebody’s extra pair of glasses from where they waited on the counter. Not that the disguise would hold up for long either way, she was decidedly too small to pass as an adult.

Huffing out a breath, Tamika steeled herself for the next stage of her escape.

 

Seriously, she thought, it was a miracle that no alarm had been sounded already. Now, of course, that part was obviously a lost cause, but _until she’d opened that door—_ oh, well. Regrets later. For now—Tamika lurched forward between the shrieking of the alarm behind her, doing her best to force her mouth into an approximation of normal speech. As soon as the first few responders rounded the corner, she straightened her back, turning back to them. “Miss Flynn got out!” she shouted, hoarseness ignored. None of these Strex employees looked like they were really in charge, they just looked nervous. Or confused. Perfect.  
Tamika grinned to herself. Looks like she’d have to take charge, and that was something she knew how to do. “You, you, you, and… you.” She pointed out a series of people who already looked confident. “Take the main hallway on the left, and keep an eye out. I thought I saw someone running. You four?” she picked out another group. “You’ve got the right. Redhead and you with the glasses, you look confident, I need you to search this room, and let me know what you find. Don’t let anyone else in or out, this may have been an inside job, given that the alarms didn’t go off until I left.” Another collection of people had rounded the corner, great, and Doctor Jesso with them. Damnit. Tamika turned away, hoping to keep her face at enough of an angle that she wouldn’t be recognized. “You. Security officer.” Her eyes blazed into the man’s. “Doctor Jesso was the last person seen with the prisoner.” When the guard looked like he was beginning to protest, she came a few steps closer, honeying her gaze a touch. “Which means she’s got to be the first suspect. This is probably the most important job here, I need you to keep her occupied. No tampering with the evidence, no confusing our investigation. Got that?” It seemed her confidence was doing the trick, because the guard nodded and walked off to deal with Doctor Jesso. Thank fuck. “The rest of you, get back to work.” Strex liked that, didn’t they? “Any gaps in your productivity will be noted at the end of the day.” Calm as she could, Tamika made sure she turned away from Doctor Jesso, and started walking, briskly, as if she had someplace to be. She couldn’t limp. Not right now. So instead, she focused on keeping her stride as light as possible, and ignored the hot trickle under her fingernails and the sharp taste welling up from where her teeth clamped against her cheek. 

Thank the beams for glasses and human negligence.

As soon as she turned the corner and saw no-one there, Tamika relaxed her step a little. Where to next? Either she went up, to the helicopter pads, or down to the street level. Maybe she could hide in a bin of laundry? But that risked tumbling through chutes and such, and possibly being dumped straight into whatever laundry facilities they used here. Probably incineration or something, not bloodstone-based purification or the standard rituals used at home. She sighed. Upward it was. But first, speaking of rituals—Tamika wiped a bit of the blood from her palm onto the first two fingers of her left hand. A quick, toneless chant and a few gestures, and—there. A see-me-not charm. It wouldn’t be enough to render her completely invisible, and she couldn’t get all the way to the helicopters with it, and it would break if she set off another alarm, but… it was something, at least. To any observers, she would merely seem unremarkable. At least so long as she kept her actions reasonably normal to match. And while she was at it, Tamika pressed the bloody hand to her hip with a hiss, teasing out another strand of power to freeze the bleeding and immobilize the joint. It would impair her movement, yes, but that wasn’t the end of the world now. The see-me-not charm should disguise it well enough.

 

The trip up the building was about as uneventful as could be hoped for. Tamika had successfully managed to briskly walk right into an elevator, and thanks to the fidgety man already standing there, didn’t need to figure out how to swipe a keycard she didn’t have. This elevator went all the way up to the fourteenth floor, and according to the maps on the wall, the roof was technically the sixteenth floor, so she was almost there!

She was starting to get dizzy, though. And she couldn’t stop smiling.

But… two more floors. Two more floors, and she could stow herself away in the back of a helicopter. Two more floors, and she could go home. Multicolored patches of darkness had begun to form on the edges of her vision, and the sounds of the elevator seemed as if they echoed from behind a cloud, but she could deal with that for two more floors. Right?

Upon reflection, that probably should have been a warning sign. But instead, Tamika stumbled on her way out of the elevator, and limped right up to the receptionist, and with a charming ~~grimace~~ smile: “Where’s the next delivery to Night Vale?”

The receptionist was a tall man, so thin as to be very likely anorexic, and the eyes that glittered down at her were distinctly reptilian in mood. The traditional Desert Bluffs smile spread across his face. “Hello there. Why, I’m sure your tablet will tell you, if you need to know.”  
Confidence. Tamika huffed out a breath, and made her retort. “Yes, I’m perfectly well aware of that. But if my incompet—” wait no they were all about hooey dooey cooperation here, weren’t they “—my lovely teammate doesn’t spontaneously grow three extra arms and a lick of common sense, obviously the rarer of the two, I won’t be getting the reports until spring. Be a dear and look it up for me? Such a lack of productivity is terribly…” sad? “distressing,” she finished. How actual office buildings worked, she had no idea, but this seemed to at least loosely follow what she’d noticed from Albert Camus’ book _The Plague,_ so. Close enough?  
“You should report that teammate of yours to human resources,” the receptionist frowned. “I’m very concerned for his well-being.”  
“I know,” Tamika winced. “I’ve reported it, but you know how much paperwork there is. HR hasn’t managed to dig through it all yet.” That would be the case for the Sheriff’s Secret Police, at least. Hopefully bureaucratic backlogs translated between towns as well as she suspected it might.  
There was an understanding nod from the receptionist. “I see. In that case, let me see… Ah! On… Thursday, no, Thursday was cancelled. Wednesday!” He gave a grin. “There will be a delivery at two o’clock on Wednesday, that’s two o’clock tomorrow, the crates are already in room 1548. Friday has a delivery of the same at nine in the morning, plus three o’clock on Sunday and Monday. Is that all?”  
“Yes! Thank you so much.” Good enough. Let’s see, 1548… That would be on the next floor, wouldn’t it? Where was the other elevator? Tamika did her best to hide her confusion as she strode away, but… there. A map. Weirdly, she’d noticed, none of the fire maps here seemed to actually direct people to exits. Instead they all seemed to point toward this one room on the twelfth floor? Oh, well. Elevator, elevator, elevator—welp. She huffed. There was no other elevator, at least not on the map. Why was there no other elevator? Surely not everybody was capable of walking up and down the stairs all the time. That just wasn’t realistic.

Nonetheless. How in the hidden hundred names of the Beams was she supposed to get up two flights of stairs like this? And all before the drugs took effect? Fucking hell. Her fingers clenched against the wall. Come on, come on. There had to be something, maybe a dumbwaiter. There was no way Strex just paid people to haul everything upstairs by hand. And if so, it would have to be near the shipping supplies. Right? The receptionist said it was being stored in room 1548. If there was a dumbwaiter, it should be in that area of the building. And if the building was sensibly laid out, 1448 should be basically underneath 1548. Tamika let out a breath she hadn’t quite realized she was holding, and started off down the hallway again, fingertips skimming along the smooth paint and rusty splotches of the wall.

 

She could barely even continue her staggering gait by the time she found it. The dumbwaiter was large, and dark, and empty—but how did it operate? The one at White Sands back home had to be pulled by the cables holding it to the ceiling, but this one didn’t have any ropes to be seen. Fucking come on, Tamika groaned. Just let her out. Please. How did this contraption work? By prayer, or blood, or… Great. Another key reader thing. Tamika sent a glance to the left, another to the right, just in case, but there was nobody in sight. Two fingers pressed to the front of the key reader with her thumb pointed up, her two remaining fingers clenched in a fist beneath them. This was another trick learned from Janice, though it really it was most prevalent among the Scouts and the NRA. Not for common usage, though mostly because of the energy cost—it was much more efficient to just track down a gun and bullets and shoot it, almost always, not to mention simpler. Concentration nestled in her brow, Tamika felt the psychic power spread in her veins, weak as it was from her recent inattention, and clustered it into the tips of her fingers. She stared at the key reader.  
“Pew.”  
Boom. Tamika fell back as the key reader exploded, splattering old blood across the hallway (what did Strexcorp even _use_ in these things?), and yelped when she hit the ground. _FUCK that hurt. Stupid hip._ But she had to drag herself back together anyway, because breaking a security device almost certainly would have to have set off an alarm and she had to get out of sight, _now._ An agonizing few seconds as Tamika stood, and toggled the switch that looked to be a likely candidate for turning it on, and thank the Beams the dumbwaiter was already at about this level because she heard footsteps coming down the corridor and threw herself in and oh gods why did she do that to herself? _Ow ow ow ow ow ow…_ A clunk, and the doors opened, and Tamika rolled out, clutching her side. Hopefully the Strex goons would assume she’d gone straight for the helicopters and try to chase her out of the sky, because she was _not_ coherent enough to fly right now, or even try the same taking control stunt that had worked earlier, even if the viscera dripping from her coat and horrible sunny hospital scrubs didn’t give her up at first sight. Speaking of which—if she didn’t want to make her path extremely obvious, she _had_ to stand up again, and take off the lab coat so the blood didn’t keep dripping out behind her. Why did Strex even _use_ blood power like that? It was so… inefficient. Like convincing your fingers they were a gun, it would be _so much easier_ to just use normal electronics, or a good bloodstone network. Seriously. Also, all these random thoughts were definitely not a good sign for her clear-headedness. Another slip on those obnoxiously smooth tiles, and Tamika caught herself on a doorframe. She squinted at the label. Room… 1548! Yes. And was it… unlocked! Relief flooded up from the soles of her feet, releasing in a half-delirious chuckle as she turned the handle and fell through.

The room was full of big metal containers, bright yellow one and all, a pale triangle stamped on the side. Of course, came the thought, they wanted each helicopter to be able to carry a reasonable amount of stuff. It had to outpace trucks, after all, not that that was hard to do with how well Night Vale could twist its roads around such that they never even reached the town. Tamika picked one of the open ones at random, stumbling in through the door, and… crates. It was full of crates. Thank the Beams, whatever it held was contained. She didn’t want to have to deal with something like the oranges again, after all. Who knew what happened to all those people? Not Tamika Flynn.  
She let her knees buckle, finally, and crawled between crates toward the back of the container. It took some rearranging, but within a couple minutes, Tamika had constructed a neat little nest out of the lab coat, fully surrounded by crates. A couple spare bits of lumber wedged the space open at about the right dimensions for another crate, and the teenager curled up in her little hollow, and  
Slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and part 2, for anybody actually reading this. 
> 
> Chapter CWs: Basically the same as last time, but a bit less gruesome (usually). If you didn't read the first part, you will be very confused.

The sun was gone by the time the little girl opened her eyes again.  
Where was it? Where had her beautiful and agonizing sunlight fled to, crept to, hidden itself? She was floating still, but aimlessly now, lost in a void of darkened apathy. What happened to the Smiling God? _We left._ But… Left? Why? The Smiling God was good, was light, fulfilment. Why would she leave? And where was she now? The world was loud, everything was loud, she couldn’t… Ugh. _We have to prove ourselves, remember? We have to burn._ Oh. Right. Of course. And then she would be accepted gladly into the fold, and be fulfilled. _Exactly._ And to prove herself… Maybe some pain would help. It helped before, it let her think, and realize exactly how she could please her god and dedicate herself properly. She had to be quiet, though. _Yes. Quiet._

It didn’t take much to make her head start to clear. A twist here, warm fingertips into the much hotter, slick flesh beneath her skin as she bit her lip and—oh god, why did she think this was a good idea? But now something else was motivating her hand, something other than that dreamy satisfaction sent it kneading at the gash in her side, the bits of exposed bone in her hip. _We have to do this._ But she didn’t! _Trust me._ But…  
She had to.

What was… Tamika? Yes. That was her name, and the clouds had retreated a good bit, and the cold voice in her head felt more like a part of _her_ now, and not some stranger clinging desperately to the remnants of her brain. How far along was she? Between Desert Bluffs and… wherever it was she was going. _Night Vale._ Sure. _Well we’re definitely outside of Desert Bluffs city limits, at least._ The Smiling God was mostly in Desert Bluffs, true. So if she couldn’t feel the heat of its gaze… it wasn’t here. Or at least, it wasn’t nearly so close as it had been before.  
But there was still something wrong, inescapably so, with her body, if only she could pinpoint the issue. Not the injuries, though of course those were unfortunate too. Something else. Tamika’s eyes narrowed _._ Something wasn’t right, something to do with her face, she was—smiling? Grinning, really, the expression rigid like the exposed bones of a broken Barbie doll. Why was she smiling? Tamika tried to force the corners of her mouth down— they didn’t budge. She scrunched up the rest of her face, evidently that wasn’t the problem, but her mouth wouldn’t leave that disgusting—argh. She had to focus. As long as she didn’t have to look serious for any reason, the paralyzed rictus was largely inconsequential for her goals. As a test, she tried to form words. _Okay then,_ came the thought when her lips largely refused to move. _We’ll be fine as long as we also don’t have to talk._ This had better not be permanent. _And we aren’t scared. We’re just…_ Concerned.

Tamika froze in her reflection when the container about her ceased its swaying. Alright, so maybe they were basically home. Or maybe they knew she was in there and had stopped to—no.  If whoever was driving the helicopter knew she was here, Tamika reasoned, they would have stopped much earlier, while she was still asleep. Strex was perfectly well aware, after all, that she’d gotten another dose right before she escaped, they could surely predict from that when she would have to have been knocked out. And why would they have specifically _waited_ for an opportunity while she was awake? That was pure tactical stupidity.  
Speaking of tactical stupidity, how was she supposed to get out of here unseen? Tamika tried to frown for a moment before the lack of movement reminded her that she couldn’t. The see-me-not spell would definitely fail if anyone saw a battered teenager in a bloody lab coat crawl out of a supposedly sealed metal box. And she may or may not even be _able_ to cast anything much like this, without forming words or using bloodstones. For the first time in a long while Tamika regretted the fact that she’d spent her last year of school in Lethal Cooking and Secret Alchemy instead of Advanced Telepathy. And now? Beams almighty, she hadn’t been to school in what? Two years? Would she be considered too old, when and if this war ever ended, or would she be rounded up and sent back in until she graduated, regardless? Oh, well, came the thought. Now was _not_ the time. Unfortunately, hand signals and Morse Code just weren’t very helpful for spellcasting.  

First step, figure out where she was.  
She had arrived directly by helicopter, and there had been no slow fading of its roar or more stable, but bouncier ride as a forklift or truck would imply, so she had to still be outdoors. Either a roof, or… or just outside in a parking lot or something. The clunk as the container fell to the ground had been loud, harsh, as if the metal had dropped onto concrete rather than sand or grass, or even gravel. Tamika let out a breath. That narrowed the field significantly. Assuming she was in fact in Night Vale, where did the yellow helicopters hauling the steel coffers usually _go?_ A pause. Easy, she recalled. They dropped off their shipments in the abandoned Secret Police warehouse outside of town, at least most of the time. Monitoring the yellow helicopters via bloodstone circle had been one of the Book Club’ first long-term strategic decisions after Cecil disappeared. If they couldn’t rely on him, after all, to send coded messages with enemy positions anymore, they would still have to know where said enemy was; and while Strexcorp did a pretty good job of warding their constructions against interference by bloodstone circle, their buildings and helicopters did all leave a noticeable gap in the ambient energy of Night Vale.

Step two? How to leave unnoticed, and without trace of her presence that would be found before she could leave the building for somewhere more secure.  
Tamika held her breath long enough to fling the coat back around her shoulders, checking that all its pockets were as she remembered. Morphine bottle, glasses, and that was it, right? Right. Tamika hesitated before moving, but eventually decided she couldn’t really check for bloodstains at the moment. It was too dark in here, and it wasn’t worth trying to cast a light spell when the light might be spotted as soon as the door opened. Maybe Strex wasn’t going to bother immediately unpacking the container? That might be too much to hope for, though it would make perfect sense. There had to have been hundreds of containers in the original room, there was no way Strex insisted on spilling out all of their contents as soon as they reached their destination. That would be… inefficient. But just in case, maybe Tamika could set up an escape route, not that it would be of much help if anyone unpacking were actually paying attention. Putting as little weight on that injured right hip as possible, Tamika felt around her little cube of space, wedged open as it was by a piece of wood. If she’d positioned it the way she remembered, then the near wall should be… there! Her arm barely fit between two rows of boxes, and only when she shoved one of the two into her little cave part of the way, but it did, letting her fingertips brush the cool of corrugated metal.  
Let’s see.  
The container had fit four, five crates in the short direction? And when she crawled in, Tamika _thought_ her hidey-hole had been on the left side? So that meant… if the near wall was on her right-hand side, she should be facing the door. A couple minutes of concerted effort and paranoid silence left a crack between the crates and the wall, all the way down to the end, of about twelve inches. At most. Tamika winced internally, teeth grinding behind their enforced smile. It would have to be enough.

How long had it even been?  
Now that she wasn’t dragging herself around anymore, or poking at the gaping holes in her side, the clouds had begun to surround her again. Also, Tamika fervently wished she could stop _smiling_ like some maniac from Desert Bluffs because if she could just cast a spell, or talk to herself to kill this oppressive feeling of sensory deprivation looming in the darkness, or even _wet her lips_ to stop them cracking, this whole situation would be a lot less… ~~terrifying~~ miserable. She wasn’t scared. This wasn’t permanent (hopefully), and she’d managed to largely keep her calm up until now. Librarians did not faze her, and neither would this. That was the funny thing, really, mused the part of Tamika which had kept observing, which had hid under a rock when the clouds came. Up until now? She really, truly hadn't felt _scared._ Tamika had gone her whole life without such irritating emotions, it just had never been in her vocabulary. Even the wild dog attack at school had been… annoying, mostly. She hadn’t been able to finish her book for another few hours. The Summer Reading Program had been delightful, honestly, though she could deduce why others might be scared. And she hadn’t much liked the constant screams and panic that filled the Library, that was why Tamika had taken the lead, at first. Before the pain, the fears, the deaths of those that followed her began to weigh on her conscience. But even that had been largely grief and a sense of duty, not… _this._ Maybe it was the effect of the drugs. The fact that she couldn’t even count on her own thoughts, her own faculties to tell her the truth.  
Oh. Tamika blinked.  
Maybe that was it. _Probably_ that was it, actually, because the terror mostly seemed to disappear both times when the drugs wore off, or had been shaken off. And maybe that was also why Strex had felt comfortable leaving her under such relatively loose security—an alarm if she left, but no actual guards, no alerts on her shackles, nothing keeping her from speaking when the interrogator wasn’t there. If the drugs scrambled thoughts, and tainted emotions so strongly as to make even her, even _Tamika Flynn_ feel fear—the other prisoners wouldn’t have needed that extra security, would they? That story matched the observed symptoms, too: Nobody they’d rescued from Strex had been there for over a day. Who knew how long Tamika had been in their custody? It had been at least four days, of that she was sure, because the initial rescue attempt that had landed her in Strexcorp’s loving arms had taken place on a Saturday. But the other prisoners, mostly Book Club members, who she’d rescued? They’d been okay enough at first, dazed and unresponsive for a maximum of around eight hours (except for Carlos; they seemed to have dosed him more heavily). But after that—screams and yelps and incoherent gibbering, flinching from even the faintest touch, even after the initial withdrawal symptoms were over with. They’d all gone mad with terror, and it was days before they recovered.  
Would the effects last that long on her? Tamika shivered. Worse, would withdrawal set in again before she got to relative safety? (Was the smiling permanent?) She had to stop thinking about this.

Wait.  
The container reminded her of a sensory deprivation chamber. Which meant… Tamika sucked in a breath and listened. Silence.  
There was nobody there.  
Or at least, nobody in the middle of doing something loud. They hadn’t checked the container! For once, she actually _felt_ like grinning again, dark and feral in her smile. She could leave. Tamika gathered herself up again, and crawled toward the gap between crates and wall. A foot wide and as high as the container; height would not be a problem. But she would have to stand again to make it through, and even then it would be a tight fit. And… where would she go? Home and free on the outside of this bloody box, where could she hide? She couldn’t trust that she would cover her tracks perfectly as she fled, not right now, so there was no way she’d go straight back to base even if she _could_ walk that far in her current state, much less commandeer a vehicle. Tamika sighed, wiping sweat from her brow. She needed water before heading out into the desert anyway, even if the hip weren’t still a problem for walking. Food would also be nice, even if she _could_ ignore the hunger for the time being. The hip alone settled the question, though. She had to find someplace in the city.  
Who? The Scouts were just about all in the desert by now. A few had stayed with their families during the original campout, but after Cecil’s capture Strex had really started to take control of the Night Vale Scouts. Pretty much all the scouts had fled for the campout when Strex began taking their families in for questioning. There were other kids that might be willing to help scattered throughout the city, but… well. If they weren’t involved already, who was to say they’d be trustworthy? Especially when faced with the potency of Strexcorp’s methods. Tamika relegated this idea to the status of last-ditch backup plan. Better not to involve anyone who hadn’t volunteered for the resistance effort. School… Maybe she could ask the Glow Cloud for help? But then she wouldn’t remember when she left, and that was a problem. Or maybe… The PTA had stayed in Night Vale, for the most part. The Book Club didn’t have a _lot_ of contact with the PTA, they didn’t want to draw Strexcorp’s attention to the group, but they were decidedly allies. And—Carlsberg! Steve Carlsberg practically ran the PTA, didn’t he? That was one PTA member the Book Club talked to on an actual regular basis. Without Carlsberg, they would have no source of weapons and other supplies which could deliver in less than a month. Let’s see. His next in-person delivery had been mostly medical supplies, scheduled for Monday. Tamika was too late for that. But afterward, he’d planned to be… where?    
Janice. He was going to meet up with Janice, in the city.  
That probably wasn’t today. But at least, Tamika thought, there was a limited number of homes which could host someone in a wheelchair, and he wouldn’t be in his own house or a public place. Hell, Carlsberg hadn’t _lived_ in his house since Strex started the Company Picnic two years ago. At most, he’d stopped by briefly to pick up harder-to-find equipment. Which meant…  
Liam Rodriguez’ older living brother had spent years paralyzed from the shoulders down before that Easter attack split him into triple winged clones of himself. Their parent was… Karen Rodriguez? Tamika shuddered at the feeling of air over her bare teeth. If she were Janice, that’s where she would go. As far as they could tell, Strex had only been keeping an eye on Night Vale for a few years, at which point the older brother (…Dominick?) had already split. So. Even if Strex _did_ know that Janice and Carlsberg would have a meeting in Night Vale, _and_ they already knew that Janice was confined to a wheelchair most of the time, they were probably going to assume it would take place in a house that they knew to be wheelchair accessible. Which was probably not the Rodriguez house, not when there were at least four others with people who currently needed such accommodations in the immediate PTA alone.  
Beams above and gaping void below, Tamika hoped she was right.

~~~

Getting out of the Secret Police warehouse hadn’t been particularly difficult. They relied much more on pretended secrecy for this sort of thing than they did actual defenses; much to Tamika’s disgust. They could at least _attempt_ to be cautious instead of just pretending that the warehouse was in any way a secret. Instead, after the immensely painful process of squeezing out between the crates in her container, realizing the door was actually on the other side, opening a new passage, and scraping gore from her hip as she snuck out that instead, Tamika shot the lock off the container thanks to Janice’s amazing finger guns trick and collapsed on the floor. There was light again, finally, dusky and comforting in the setting sun. She didn’t bother doing the same to the cameras in every corner of the warehouse; after all, every camera in the room failing at once would probably be a lot more obvious than having a few seconds where a broken teenager stumbled through the frame. She took a few seconds to enjoy the comparatively fresh air, the light, the freedom of movement before lurching back to her feet. It took barely a minute for her to get the rest of the way out, staggering right out the front door after listening briefly to ensure nobody was near. From there—Tamika couldn’t go to the Secret Police, because Strex would have to be looking for her and just assuming any officer that answered her call would not only fail to volunteer her position to the mother company but actively hide it was _definitely_ a bad idea. She did pause, though, before leaving the warehouse to exchange her hospital scrubs and bloodied lab coat for the comfortable dark clothes, balaclava, and bulky cloak of a clandestine officer, transferring the content of her pockets as she did. If she was to get imprisoned for impersonating an officer of the law, that would have to wait until after this war was over (if it ever was).  Disguise in place and balaclava covering the inescapable manic grin, Tamika crossed the city pretty much undisturbed.  
Walk with confidence, and people will assume you’re telling the truth.

Of course, by the time she reached Liam’s house—the Rodriguez house, rather, Liam was out in the desert with everyone else—Tamika could hardly stand.  
Not because it was that far a distance to cross, she’d walked more than two miles often enough with working legs. But—well. She didn’t have working legs, she was limping along with a broken hip that couldn’t actually support her weight, and sweating horribly beneath the cloak and balaclava, and unless Tamika was very much mistaken, the quaking of her hands and worsening chills were as much a symptom of withdrawal from whatever Strex injected her with as they were consequences of dehydration.  
She couldn’t walk in through the front door, of course. Even if the Secret Police did do that, the whole area would be sure to be on camera. And to make matters worse, whoever _was_ actually assigned to watch the Rodriguez house would know damned well she wasn’t supposed to be there. Tamika growled quietly. The disguise had outworn its usefulness, she supposed. Trembling hands unclasped the cloak and drew the balaclava from her face, revealing bare teeth and lips cracked bloody to the air. She dropped them in the bush where she knelt for now. It wasn’t as if they’d be missed. There hadn’t been a back door visible when she approached the house, so how would she—  
There was a woman in an upstairs window.  
After a handful of frozen heartbeats, Tamika recognized her. Liam’s mom. She couldn’t just wait for her to happen to come outside, odds are she didn’t have the time before withdrawal set in in earnest. Great, Tamika clenched her fists. Window it is. A quick glance around confirmed that no-one was immediately around to see, at the very least. She stood with a hiss, limping as fast as she could to the spindly tree outside the left-highest window of the two-story house. This was going to hurt, but there was no guarantee that Liam’s mom would hear her if she tried a lower window, and this was better concealed in any case. She’d be knocking at a window in another room from where the woman had stood a moment ago either way.

Balanced precariously on a limb, Tamika gripped the windowsill white-knuckled with one hand. Okay. She would knock, and someone would answer, and everything would be fine.  
Tap-brush-brush-tap, as hard as she could stand onto the glass.  
Damnit. She really should use one of the recognition codes, if possible, but—first she had to be heard. Tamika grabbed the bottle of morphine from her pocket and banged it against the window. Footsteps. _Now_ she gave a code, switching back to her hand for clarity’s sake: _.--. .-. . .--. .- .-. .- - .. --- -._  
After a few more agonizing seconds of holding herself in place, stretched from tree to window, a woman came into focus—Karen, that was her name. Liam’s mom. She started to open the window, startlement scrawled plainly on her face, and then—she froze. Tamika attempted to frown, giving up when she remembered how futile the effort would be. What was… oh. Of course. She didn’t smile, under normal circumstances. Karen was being careful, an effort Tamika would applaud in _any other case._ She sighed, rapping out the pattern again. Let me in, she chanted mentally. Let me in let me in let me in.  
Praise the beams, Karen seemed to recognize the code, taking the last few steps up to the window. She unfastened it, standing cautiously to the side, and Tamika took a last breath. One more. One more abuse on this poor broken hip, and she would be home free, _the phoenix first must burn_. It was all she had left to do, just _jump_ and _swing through the window_ and

She leapt.

FUCKING HELL— _don’t let this random lady see how weak you are, fuck._ Tamika only barely made it through the window, tumbling through into mess of a roll to land on her feet and  
Nope. She stumbled, only just catching herself on the wall before her right leg gave out. Now to find Carlsberg—  
“… Miss Flynn?”  
DON’T CALL ME THAT. Tamika glared, desperately wishing she could change this bloody expression to anything but a dreamy face of frenzied bliss. Her _name_ was Tamika. Not Flynn, and definitely not ‘Miss Flynn’, never mind that all she could think of after hearing those words now was the friendly face of that Strex interrogator.  
“What are you doing here?”  
Tamika fixed her eyes on the floor, frustration clenched in her fists anew. She had to get the words out. Or word, more accurately. Beams above, it was a trial even dragging her teeth far enough apart to get out the first syllable. It didn’t hurt, exactly, her face just… wouldn’t obey, so she stood sweaty and shaking for what felt like centuries until—“Carlsberg.” Slurred, mostly skipping over that first letter, but still understandable. Tamika glanced up at the woman standing confusedly before her, and the thought was almost strong enough to burn through solid wood. _Take me. To Steve. Carlsberg._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for other stuff in the series! I've got the actual part 2 mostly planned out, but haven't really started drafting yet, so that may be a while, but there are some other short things I may do in the middle. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Specific CWs: partial paralysis, some torture, ignoring obvious medical problems, horrorterrors, brainwashing drugs, gaslighting (kind of), I think that's about it?


End file.
